Playing Field
by trufflemores
Summary: Fencing!Klaine. Kurt and Blaine are already fierce rivals, and fencing is the one playing field in which the balances are pretty even between them. Who will come out on top? Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

_**A/N: **I'm also very pleased to announce that this is my 100th fic here on ffnet! I never thought I'd get to this point, and I owe so much of that to your continued encouragement and support. Thank you all so much. Enjoy._

"All right, everyone – pair up! And remember – _safety first, safety last –_"

"Safety always," Kurt drawled, low and unamused, sidling up to Blaine across the floor and swinging his sword in a single languid arc. "Ready for me, Anderson?" he added, drawing the point up until it hovered just above Blaine's clavicle.

Blaine rolled his eyes in response, snapping his own sword up to flick Kurt's away. "You wish. Don't you have anyone else to harass today? Some poor, help freshman to terrorize?"

"I'm looking at one," Kurt reminded, drawing the helmet down over his face, utterly obscuring his face as he stepped back to settle into a starting position.

Blaine pulled his own helmet down and breathed slowly through the mesh to help him bite back a snappy retort. He didn't need to sink to Kurt's level, especially when he was trying not to focus on the carelessly elegant way that Kurt struck up the pose as their instructor rambled on about the significance of fencing as a _gentle_men's sport. There was no question that Kurt was attractive – and Blaine had actually swallowed the first time that he had seen Kurt's _post _warm-up hair because if the coif was perfect then the messy hair was _divine_ – and Blaine knew that _Kurt _knew that he was attractive.

And Kurt was powerful and quick and surprisingly light on his feet, making him the perfect opponent for a seasoned fencer.

_Focus, _Blaine chided himself, dancing back a step as Kurt lunged. He hadn't even heard the instructor's signal to begin, grunting when Kurt forced him back another step. His ears were already ringing as he tap-tap-tapped away, their swords meeting evenly in the middle every time. He couldn't get _near _Kurt's mesh, which was astonishing in its own right because he had spent so many years anticipating his opponents and striking when they weren't expecting him.

He couldn't even blame his open-book expressions for the faltering to his steps; the masks hid their faces entirely.

No, Kurt was just _good_, naturally attune to his own movements and readily anticipating Blaine's lunges.

"God-_dammit,_" Blaine huffed, stepping back as Kurt's sword punched into his shoulder. The instructor blew the whistle again, calling a formal end to the match, and Blaine realized, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, that they were the last pair to finish, Kurt's victory on full display to the rest of the room.

"That was very impressive, boys; although I have to say that your forms were a little rough. Remember – safety first."

Blaine didn't deign to respond aside from a jerky nod – he knew how to fence, _Kurt _didn't know how to fence, always zigging when he expected him to zag – and glaring across the room at his opponent.

He could almost feel Kurt's smirk and it made his jaw clench, renewed determination surging through his veins as the instructor called them to reset for the next match.

"Don't go too easy on me," Kurt said, switching his sword easily from one hand to the next, face utterly implacable behind the mesh. "Wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong impression."

"And what impression would that be?" Blaine asked, stepping back and relaxing into a start position.

Kurt's voice took on a sly quality as he said, "That you're better than I am."

Blaine huffed – too softly to be audible, but Kurt had to have seen the way his chest jumped the slightest bit, indignation apparent – before lifting his sword at the instructor's beckoning. "Better put your talent where your mouth is, Hummel," was all he said, snapping into motion the second the whistle blew.

The match lasted barely thirty seconds before Blaine lunged, careless, casual, and felt Kurt's sword prick his belly, a sharp grunt escaping him as he fell back in wordless retreat. "Two for two," Kurt said, almost preening with delight as he sauntered away.

Blaine refused to hunch over his stomach as he settled back into his own corner even though he could almost feel the bruise forming underneath the thin padding. If there was one thing that _could _use improvement, it was Kurt's level of restraint; his final blows packed a mean punch.

"You know, you could quit now; I've already won this set," Kurt reminded.

Blaine took in Kurt's easy, unaltered posture – he doubted a hair was out of place on Kurt's head, the bastard; his own curls were already sweaty with exertion – before making his decision, slipping back into the start position without a word.

"Suit yourself," Kurt said, flicking his own sword up as he slid his leg back and settled his weight just so.

And even then, caught between rounds, Blaine could have counted every curve, every finely-tuned muscle along Kurt's chest and knees and calves. It was unfair, really, especially since he knew that his own form wasn't quite as up to par as Kurt's.

Still, the third round was a clean win for Blaine; having succumbed twice to the same trick, he feinted his own fatal mistake the third time and then swept his sword in for a quick tap that ended the match.

Except Kurt won the fourth round after a grueling series of back-and-forth blows that would have felled a lesser opponent, dancing lightly enough on his feet that even Blaine's most unexpected moves slid neatly away from his mesh. His own sword clipped Blaine's shoulder again, eliciting another grunt and an exasperated sigh from Blaine as he retreated bitterly to his own corner.

"You know, as much fun as this is for me, I think we need to change the rules a little."

Blaine startled and almost fell over at the sound of Kurt's voice beside him, scant inches away from him as he twisted his glove in a long-forgotten anxiety-habit. "How so?" he asked, dropping both arms at his sides and glaring at Kurt, still concealed – thankfully; although Blaine felt guilty for thinking that he wouldn't be able to keep his gaze from straying to his lips if he wasn't – underneath the mask.

"Winner gets a reward of his choosing."

Blaine considered it for a moment – there were ten rounds altogether for their practice, and he only needed to win four more to draw, five to win – before nodding once, sticking out a hand and meeting Kurt's gloved one with a crisp, "Deal."

If nothing else, he had an impressive pile of laundry and a fair amount of classwork to get done before the weekend. And even if Kurt did win, he couldn't imagine that the demands would be much higher.

With the stakes higher than before, Blaine barely waited until Kurt was ready before striking, hard and fast, ending the match almost before he was aware of his sword hitting Kurt's hip.

He swept the next two matches up in neat wins, confidence bolstered and old habits coming into place as he learned to accommodate Kurt's unpredictability.

"Not all talk anymore, huh, Hummel?" he asked, retreating after the seventh match with a wolfish grin on his lips.

Kurt didn't respond – hadn't spoken at all in minutes, which was unusual even for him – before settling into the start position again. Blaine mirrored him, almost lackadaisically set, before the instructor blew his whistle after yet another spiel about safety.

It might have even come in handy, Blaine thought ruefully, as Kurt struck with such clinical precision that it left him reeling after each movement. He could barely keep track of his sword, only avoiding it by sheer luck twice, and when it finally hit home against his chest he could only make a startled noise and drop his own sword, caught by Kurt's stare – and even behind the mask, it was ruthlessly compelling, pinning him there – before Kurt lowered his sword.

Blaine retrieved his own without any pomp, tossing out a quipped "I'm fine" when the instructor asked him if everything was all right. He was sweaty and tired and ready to call it a day, happy to succumb to whatever servitude Kurt would subject him to – he would do dishes for a _month _for a bottle of water – but he didn't want to be the first one to cave, the first one to seek reprieve.

They still had two rounds. As long as Kurt was undaunted, then Blaine refused to be.

Almost before Kurt even moved, however, Blaine knew that he would lose the ninth round.

Kurt was fast, and nimble on his feet while Blaine moved carefully, precisely, well-trained but less naturally attuned to his movements. He had _learned _to be a good performer, practicing his steps until they were beaten into his mind through repetition, relentless hours of practice creating an air of seeming effortlessness when put on display. But Kurt was a natural dancer, already keenly aware of his body and its movements, and Blaine couldn't touch him, not when he was so readily _inventive _and unpredictable.

Still, he couldn't keep the cry in when Kurt's sword dashed his arm, gouging the sensitive space between shoulder and chest.

"What the hell, Kurt?" he demanded, ripping off his mask because that had _hurt, _and Kurt wasn't even looking at him, was barely even listening to him as he turned on his heel and walked to his corner, already setting up for another match.

"Blaine, are you okay?" the instructor asked.

Blaine felt the anger flush his cheeks, his stomach knotting with tension before he forced himself to breathe and spit out a quipped, "I'm fine. And I'm done for the day. Kurt can fence with someone else."

He didn't look to see the hurt that flashed across Kurt's face, only caught a glimpse of his expression – unimpeded by the mask, he'd already pulled it up and there was his messy, irresistible hair – before stripping off his gear and tossing it in the bag. He was out the door before the instructor had finished offering Kurt a change of partner, down the hall and around the corner as humiliation took frustration's place.

He made it to one of the empty classrooms before collapsing against the wall, spent and bitter and a little disappointed in himself. Reaching up to rub his hands through his hair – which, ick, _gross_, he definitely needed to take a nice hot shower when he got home – he didn't move when he heard a second set of footsteps grow near, Kurt's weight settling down beside him so easily that he didn't even flinch.

They sat in silence for a few interminably long seconds, Kurt's legs stretching out in front of him as Blaine sat, hunched with his knees drawn up, listening to the clock overhead.

At last, slightly muffled against his knees, he said, "My hair's really gross right now," and heard Kurt make a sympathetic noise that was half-amused, half-sad before he draped an arm around Blaine's shoulders and hauled him in for a sideways hug.

And even covered in cooling sweat, it was still the most comfortable place that Blaine knew, molding perfectly against his side and pressing his cheek against his shoulder. "It's fine," Kurt assured, rubbing his hand along his side and resting his cheek against the top of Blaine's head. "You're not the only one that gets a little too competitive sometimes. And don't forget that I've forgotten what it does to you when _I _win."

Blaine huffed in amusement, already calmer just for having Kurt _near_, and looped his own arms around Kurt's waist in return.

They sat like that in silence for a time, just coming down from their respective competitive highs before Kurt crooned, "Oh, honey. I'm sorry." His fingers brushed gently along his side, the sword point having pressed a darkening bruise just under his armpit.

"It's okay," Blaine said, and he meant it, even though he was a little sore and there were other bruises forming. "We just have to work on your strength, that's all."

Kurt hummed thoughtfully, shuffling around so Blaine had no choice but to sit up fully or tip over as he faced Blaine, a slight smile twitching at the edges of his lips as he reached up to flick an errant curl off Blaine's forehead. "I think I know what I want my reward to be," he said, his gaze calm and unreadable as he met Blaine's.

"Oh?" Blaine cocked his head a little to one side, an almost playful gleam in his eyes. "What would that be?"

Kurt didn't say anything for a long moment, Blaine's pulse kicking up another notch as he leaned close. Blaine's eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, his breath already coming a little faster just because he was so _close _when Kurt whispered, "A kiss."

Blaine shivered, and he almost reached out then to take it for himself because he couldn't resist Kurt when he was like this, but then Kurt was there and it was even better.

And as far as Blaine was concerned, no one lost the fencing match that day.


End file.
